


Cain and Abel

by Idonquixote



Category: Ice Age (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama, Gen, Major Original Character(s), Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 13:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idonquixote/pseuds/Idonquixote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was colder each day. A tale of brothers, family, and letting go. Rated for violence and non-explicit sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cain and Abel

**Author's Note:**

> Re-posted from ff.net to boost the AO3 archive, haha. This was my first Ice Age fic, done back in 2011. My original A/N: Well, I don't see this story as "canon" or even in my "headcanon" but I thought it was an interesting idea so I went ahead and wrote it. Be warned- this is a long read. Anyway, I hope you like it and feel free to review.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Ice Age.

Marco paced around the other saber's corpse. He sneered. The fellow certainly had the audacity to challenge him. He'd give the other that much credit. It was the second formal duel in his life. He barely remembered the first time but his whole pack did: needless to say, no one would dare challenge his position again.

He surveyed the other corpses. From the smell, he could tell that they were fresh- perhaps only a few days. The deaths were not natural. But then again, anything in mother nature was natural. Many years later, Marco would find himself covered with the same smell.

"The idiot," he murmured under his breath. The dead saber knew he was the last member of the pack and yet he had issued the duel anyway. Marco had never been a patient smilodon and stupidity was one of the things he could never stand.

One of the dead tigers stirred. Curious, Marco strided over, claws bared just in case. And almost unconsciously, he retracted them. The dead tiger was not stirring; rather, something under it was. A head came out, followed by small paws.

A cub.

A whimpering, emaciated thing. Marco once had a litter of cubs- his mate had only named two before the rest died, or rather, drowned. He detested cubs because he loved cubs. And now one was staring him in the eyes, almost pleadingly.

Marco's first cub was named Soto. The second named one was called Diego. The third was to be called Pepito. 

* * *

The cub named Soto had rushed to his father excitedly upon his return. It was getting colder each day and he loved the feeling of snuggling in his father's warmth. The only condition was that he do it in secret- Marco hated "softness."

The other pack members emerged; no one had expected Marco to lose the duel, but nearly everyone had hoped he would. Marco acknowledged them all with a curt nod. Something slid off his back.

"Who's that?" Soto asked.

"Yeah, who's that?" Paco, the beta, asked. He knew his leader's behavior and this was not normal behavior.

"Don't tell us you had an affair," another teased. This was followed by several roars of laughter. Soto did not find it very funny. He and a few other cubs marched up to the one his father brought.

"That's a new member," Marco stated. And that was that.

No matter how much they wanted to hear, the pack knew Marco would speak no more. Such was their alpha.

Soto and the cubs sniffed the shaking one and poked it with their paws. Paco joined.

"Smells like a female," a cub said with disdain.

"It's male," Paco corrected, "just been near the ladies too long."

More peals of laughter. Marco cast a look at his hunters; they were about to follow his lead before Soto asked another question.

"What's his name?"

"Doesn't have one."

And that was that. From then on, the cub would be known as No-name.

* * *

No-name was the butt of many a joke. There was the time Soto tricked him into thinking plants were a type of meat, and the time the cubs had doused him with snow while he was asleep, and the time Soto tripped him in the dark, and the time Soto stole his portion of food, and the time Soto put a fish in his ear, and on and on.

Many years later, No-name and Soto would both forget these things and only Soto would suddenly remember as he faced the dropping icicles.

Each day was colder than the last.

Once during a hunting trip, Soto purposely separated from his father. He forced No-name and some cubs to go with him. They got lost.

"I think we're lost," No-name stated nervously.

"Duh."

They wandered until the sun set. The cubs stayed in a small cave for the rest of the night. It was snowed in. Nobody forgot this incident- how impossible it was to leave, how sure they were they would starve, how close to death it had been.

One cub, a sickly thing named Hugo, never made it out. They managed to make a small opening in the snow. Someone suggested that they only send one out in case of "outside danger."

"I- I'll go," Soto declared.

"We don't trust ya- you got us here!" a cub argued.

The others, save No-name, agreed fiercely. Like father, like son. Marco was the one that suggested a cub hunting party (to sort out the heiarchy early, he said). They blamed Marco for not coming for them, they blamed Paco for not either, they blamed their parents, and most of all they blamed the alpha's son.

"FINE!" Soto yelled back, "then who else wants to go!"

It was dangerous. And everyone knew that no one dared travel alone.

"I think No-name should go," someone piped up. There was heavy agreement.

"And why No-name?"

Because he was the newest member of the pack. Because he was the outsider. Because he was so effeminate. In the end, none of these words needed to be said because No-name climbed through the hole without saying a word.

"No-name!" Soto called, "Come back!" There was no reply.

A few days later, Paco and two adult sabers clawed past the snow. The thing Soto remembered the most clearly was not the scent of his elders or Paco's relieved face. It was No-name in the back, beaming at him.

It was No-name calling him aside. It was No-name saying "Soto, I got this for you. Don't let the others take it." It was the carcass of some small animal. It was Soto biting shamelessly into it. It was Soto asking "You caught this?" It was No-name saying "Yep." It was Soto asking "How many you catch?" It was No-name saying "One." It was Soto asking "Why aren't you eating?" It was No-name saying "It's for you."

It was Soto staring at him, speechless.

The first night back at their camp, Marco had simply shook his head at his son. Soto remembered Marco smiling at No-name.

* * *

It was during that awkward phase between adult tiger and cub that No-name became quite clearly, masculine. Gone was the female smell that had followed him since as long as he could remember.

It was colder each day. No-name was Soto's best friend, his right hand saber, his brother. Everyone knew that.

Once as they slept side by side in the snow, Soto shook his friend awake. No-name yawned and asked, annoyed "what?"

"How do you feel about mating?"

"Don't care."

The sky was a blanket of stars, half misted in blue clouds. At least that was what it looked like from inside the cave.

"No-name?"

"Yeah?"

"Father likes you better."

There was no reply. Many years later, No-name would remember the way Soto's paw touched his own.

"No-name, he really does like you better. More than me."

"S'not true."

"He nuzzles you on the head. He compliments you. He's never complimented me."

"That's because there's too much to compliment."

"Don't make me barf."

"Fine. There's nothing to compliment."

No-name laughed as Soto punched him in the ribs. Then tentatively, No-name added, "I like you better than anyone else."

Their paws stayed on top of one another's for the rest of the night.

* * *

It was colder each day. Paco had been wounded the day Soto made a personal decision. As Marco and the elders pondered what to do with Paco, he had taken No-name aside.

"Don't tell me you're still worried about the old guy, No-name."

No-name frowned. In the later years of his life, he would remember Paco not as a gruff, fearsome creature but a funny, carefree uncle. Then he would forget and it wouldn't be until meeting another animal that he would remember the saber he had once grieved over.

"No-name, cut me."

"What?"

Soto held up his claws.

"Cut me."

"No!"

Soto sliced the other saber in the arm; the latter made a sound of pain. He made a cut light enough to go unnoticed and heavy enough to draw blood. He licked the crimson off his claw.

"Soto- what the-!"

"Your turn, No-name. Do this and we're brothers. Officially, blood brothers."

Nervously, No-name had obeyed. He would never forget the taste of his brother's blood, and never again would he draw a drop. It wasn't until many years later that Soto would draw blood again.

"What happens if we cut each other again?"

"Then we're 'cut'," Soto gestured with his paws, "no more brotherhood."

When Soto had informed Marco of the pact, his father had simply nodded. Marco gathered the pack together. He touched No-name and said simply: "Your name is Diego."

Soto barely remembered Diego. He remembered playing with him in the youngest years of cubhood before his father's first duel. The other saber's name slipped his mind; he remembered Diego's throat sliced as a challenge- for the title of alpha. Marco had pounced on the other immediately and bitten him through the neck. Marco left the body mutilated for all to see.

But one thing Soto did know: Marco loved Diego. Diego resembled his mother, his father's mate. Soto had long since forgotten the scent of his mother.

Paco died a week later and No-name, now Diego, spent the night burying his tears in Soto's shoulder.

* * *

It was colder each day. Marco was getting slower each day. Soto was an adult. Tensions were growing in the pack. Over what exactly, Diego had no idea but he had a feeling it was over the next alpha.

During mating season, every male felt uncontrollable, wild. Soto and his brother were no exceptions.

Diego didn't remember what happened very well but he did recall a female named Juanita. He remembered the feeling of her body and the pleasure that followed. But that was all he could recall. He did not take her as a formal mate.

Diego vaguely recalled testing with various females, including one who used to mock him for smelling like a female. He did not take any as mates.

The others often teased him about it. "Ya like males, don't you, Diego?" they would mock. And he'd brush them off with rolling eyes.

Less females went to Soto than they did his brother. But for Soto, the season was the third most painful time in his life. The first and second would come in later years. He, unlike the others, found even less pleasure.

The only pleasant memory he had of that season was pouncing on Diego and saying "don't move, please, don't move." It was an order, not a plead. And like always, the latter obeyed.

Soto mated with a female named Nina. He did not love her.

* * *

The pack split in three. Marco's group left first. He could not tolerate stupidity; he knew that the moment his packmates decided to challenge his leadership, they were doomed. He made no effort to reform their pack.

Marco's group consisted of Paco's sons, his own sons, Nina, her sister, and ten other sabers. He planned to recruit new members. Soto took his father's strategies to heart.

They met a lone tiger named Zeke on the path. Zeke had a habit of twitching and in Nina's words, was clearly "loco". Marco thought the group was better off without him. Soto disagreed.

Marco was old and slow. Soto was young and strong. Zeke was the newest member.

"Marco," Soto announced one morning.

Soto had never called his father by his name. Marco knew there was no more to say. Soto had his first duel and Marco had his last.

It was colder each day.

Diego would always remember the sight of Marco falling in the snow, maimed to near shreds, the blood pouring out. The scene would replay in his mind over and over again. Marco was his father. He loved Marco. He admired Marco. He didn't stop Soto.

The guilt would plague him for several years.

Soto's pack mingled with another; he took an immediate dislike to the members named Oscar and Lenny. The feeling was mutual. He once told Diego "Oscar's a suck-up" and "Lenny eats too much."

Nina bore a litter of cubs that year. And for a while, in spite of minor tension, the pack felt pleasant, functional, almost happy. There were laughs, there were cries, there were successes and failures, there were arguments, there were solutions, there was a thing called family.

Soto once made the mistake of camping too close to humans. He would never forgive himself for it.

The pack was ambushed, and every cub was killed. Nina's sister died in a flurry of sharp sticks. Diego didn't see what happened to Nina herself. It was akin to seeing Marco die again and again and again.

And for a brief instance, he remembered. He remembered his real pack- he remembered a flurry of claws. He remembered a male saber leading him and a female away. He remembered an argument, he remembered some kind of ambush, he remembered Marco coming. He remembered crying against the female's unmoving body. And he never dwelled on the memories again- they weren't important.

Later, as the remaining members mourned, Diego would remember seeing Soto cry for the first time. And he would remember feeling guilty, not for not grieving because he most certainly did grieve, but because he felt relieved- relieved that Soto was still alive even if it meant Nina was gone.

Soto remembered calling Diego up. "Don't move," he ordered.

He scratched and beat his brother, bit and kicked, and pushed, and shoved until he was too worn out to continue. Shaking, he stepped back and sobbed. He would always remember Diego getting up, battered and winded. And saying, "Soto, continue."

He did. There was nothing to say. There was no resistance to the beating. It was necessary- he needed cartharsis. There was nothing to say.

Before the ambush, Soto would often lie awake at night as Nina snored softly beside him. He would think of ways to gain his father's approval and ways to assert his strength among the pack. And he remembered frowning childishly at old memories- he and Diego had once brought Marco a dead gazelle each. His was clearly the larger one and yet the older saber had bitten into Diego's first. It wasn't until some years later that he figured out why.

He vaguely recalled how long it had taken him as a cub to get his father to play with him. Yes, it took nearly a year. His father began to play with him, no,  _them_ , a week after No-name's arrival. And then it dawned on him, a strange kind of unearthly fear. There was the possibility that he would not be the next alpha.

Contrary to his brother's beliefs, Soto knew that-

"I'm your son, father!" he once shouted at Marco.

"You just noticed?"

"I'm serious, father."

"Mm."

"I was born by your blood and he... So why, father? Why do you love him more?"

"You think I love him more?"

"It's obvious."

Marco looked at him with dissappointed eyes. Then he said quietly, "then think whatever you want."

He knew that the leader's favor lay with Diego. This thought plagued him through the passing of seven moons and suns. He challenged his father on the passing of the seventh sun.

* * *

Even as a cub, Diego always knew Soto hungered for power, power and respect. But a part of him thought the hunger was unnecessary. Soto commanded respect; he practically emitted leadership and this trait would only grow stronger as he grew. Even as a cub, Soto was eager to establish dominance on the other cubs- his shouts were the loudest, his claws were the sharpest, his snarls were the fiercest.

These were the thoughts that Diego would often dwell on before the ambush. He thought about these things because he did not understand Soto's bouts of hostility. They were still brothers. They were still closer than mates. And yet he could detect some invisible tension.

"Who do you think's gonna be the next alpha?" Oscar once asked him.

"Don't know. Zeke, maybe?"

Oscar nearly sliced him across the face for that. But even if he had gone through with the action, Diego wasn't worried. He had always considered Oscar his inferior. In fact, there were quite a lot of sabers he considered his inferior.

"I think it's Soto," Oscar commented.

"Makes sense."

"Then who's beta?"

That question had been laced with malice; it was a silent challenge. Diego knew Oscar had been trying to get on Soto's good side since the first day their packs merged; he vied for attention, he offered meat, he tried to chat. Diego found it quite pretentious. Which was why he answered:

"Me, of course."

Oscar growled slightly. So Diego added "What? Don't tell me you think  _you'd_  be beta."

Even as cub, No-name, now Diego, always had a dry sense of humor. Before the ambush, this demeanor did not endear him in particular to the others, and after the ambush, it downright earned him enemies. But that was his own fault- if he had been dry before, he was plain bitter after. It was colder each day.

It would not be until many years later that he would realize Marco had the same dry wit.

* * *

After the ambush, Soto lost himself in vengeance. And spite. Guilt was a feeling he was not used to. As was shame. And most definitely sadness. He didn't remember weeping for the pack but he did remember roaring in rage for several nights, for nearly a month.

He wanted to do to the humans what they had done to the sabers. Eat their meat and wear their skin. He told his plan to Diego and like always, the latter had praised him and offered full support.

When the rest of the pack found out, they too had praised and celebrated. "Yes, wear the skin!" "Rub it raw!" "Eat the heart!" They would spend several nights having conversations around this.

Soto's fever seemed to spread. It hit Diego and Oscar heavily enough, plagued Lenny, and even managed to get to Zeke. A few years later, Diego would look back and find out how nightmarish that time had been. It was a time filled with cackles an malicious jokes and talk of blood and plans of torture and the sharpening of claws against rocks. It was a time where they would pounce on their prey and rip out the eyeballs first.

Only in the hour of twilight would all that seem to pass. Only then would Diego find the fever passing. And only then would he remember the mourning before the vengeance. Once he thought of Marco's corpse. He sat by the corpse when the duel had finished, he childishly nuzzled the head, and closed his eyes. To say he felt bad, to say he was sad, to say any of those things would be anti-climax because the feeling could not be put into words. There was nothing to say. He felt the same about the ambush.

These feelings had long since stopped plaguing Soto. Rage and bloodlust were all he thought of.

* * *

 

It was colder each day. Soto enjoyed dominating his prey and he loved making his inferiors tremble. He commanded fear. At mealtime, while the others ate, he would huddle in a corner and plan his next move. Simple things like what animal to catch and how, and harder things like how to hurt the humans- killing them wasn't enough, he needed them to mourn first, to break as his pack had, inside and out.

And there were odd times where his thoughts would wander to Marco; he once convinced himselt that he hated his father but he always knew it was a lie. He hated his father because his love was not returned. And he would frown when he remembered the day his father brought a cub back to their camp. And he convinced himself that he hated Diego, both Diegos, first his useless brother who had died in cubhood and then the unnamed stranger who had stolen his father's affections.

Then he would remember that he trusted and loved Diego. That did not mean he could not hate him as well. As the days went by, he would force himself to recall the images of the dead sabers and his father's corpse- he blamed the humans for the sabers, he blamed Diego for the father.

Their pack was barely functional. It was twisted by the fever of vengeance and games of wit and subtle animosity and obvious tension. Even the simplest of jokes resulted in disproportionate retribution.

Zeke once buried Lenny's food as a prank. Lenny later tried to strangle him. Oscar once told Diego Soto was dead. Diego later tried to slice his throat.

* * *

It was colder each day. It was the Ice Age. And they were finally going to take their revenge. But the baby had escaped.

That was the last straw. For Soto, it all came to a boiling point- the ambush, the feverish planning, the almost reachable unreachble vengeance, Marco's affections, Nina and her cubs, the pack's stupidity. He told Diego he'd better get the baby back or he would "serve as the replacement."

It didn't matter anymore. He would kill someone, anyone that got in his way. Especially Diego. Soto rarely slept, he needed the hours to plan and think, and the more he thought, the more he planned. He would take his vengeance on everyone- he had already done so against his father; that left the humans and No-name on the list.

Diego was cunning and sinister. He was an underhanded tacticion with a sharp tongue. He was the one Oscar dreamt of killing and devouring. He was the one Soto thought of killing. He was the one Soto thought of keeping. He was the one Soto was sick of conflicting over.

Regardless, Soto informed the pack that "Diego is the only one I trust" and that was the blunt truth.

The little, moronic bastard had walked towards  _him_. Diego would never forget the way the thing had looked at him, full of trust and love. And he would never forget the horrifying guilt. The horrifying realization that it was time to wake up.

The bloodlust, the spite, the vengeance, Soto's teachings. It all simmered down, exploded and left in a cloud of smoke. The human child, Sid the sloth, Manfred the mammoth. Manfred had saved him from sure death, the child had walked towards him, and Sid had been Sid. Hell, he was acknowleding that fact that his prey had  _names_.

In spite of the cold, it had been warm in the cave. It had been overwhelmingly warm near the lava. And now, he knew that he couldn't do it. He couldn't betray them. He couldn't let them die. He couldn't do any of that.

Diego had not felt guilt in a very long time. And suddenly he remembered Marco's death. And the baby's mother. He would never go through with the plan. And somewhere inside, a part of him hoped Soto would understand.

* * *

It was the coldest day in their lives. Half-peak must have been cursed with freezing weather. Or at least, colder than freezing.

"Leave. The mammoth. Alone."

Soto snarled. So it had come to this in the end. His second and final duel. Diego snarled back.

"I'll just have to take you down first."

It was a bitter fight, the first and last one they would ever have. Soto clawed, bit, and kicked. They wrestled in the snow and even as they rolled, his thoughts went back to the day his father returned with an unnamed cub. He remembered the rage he felt at his father's placement of affections, the rage he still felt. He swiped.

Diego made no effort to draw blood. He was kicking and grappling, not clawing and biting. Soto knew his beta would not aim to kill, knew the tiger that had let him deliver uninterrupted beatings after the ambush without retaliation, would not seek blood. Which made it all the more easy to throw his brother against the rocks.

There was a human story about two brothers. One was named Cain and the other Abel.

Soto had aimed for the mammoth. He ended up plummeting his teeth into Diego's flesh and tasting his brother's blood for the second time. That was when he realized they were no longer brothers.

_"What happens if we cut each other again?"_

_"Then we're 'cut'," Soto gestured with his paws, "no more brotherhood."_

Once Soto had returned to their pack with a gash in his side. He didn't remember exactly how he got it but he did remember how shameful it was to have been beaten by prey. And in that moment, standing over Diego's bleeding, broken body, he remembered Diego licking the wound clean. And he remembered once they were lost in a cave, when a cub called No-name had crawled out of the hole.

He decided against finishing Diego off just yet. The mammoth came first. And the baby. He sneered as he advanced, but in the back of his mind, a voice wondered what the mammoth had done to win his beta's loyalty in so short a time, what he did to deserve it, what he did to take Diego from him. He never got the chance to deliver vengeance on the mammoth.

The mammoth threw him at the cavern wall, and as he slid down, the icicles trembled. The icicles fell. Suddenly, he remembered No-name giving him a carcass.

_It was No-name calling him aside. It was No-name saying "Soto, I got this for you. Don't let the others take it." It was the carcass of some small animal. It was Soto biting shamelessly into it. It was Soto asking "You caught this?" It was No-name saying "Yep." It was Soto asking "How many you catch?" It was No-name saying "One." It was Soto asking "Why aren't you eating?" It was No-name saying "It's for you."_

Even as the icicles fell, lodging in his side, piercing his flesh, forcing sprays of crimson out, cutting his breath, all he could think about was No-name being the butt of many a joke. But he had killed No-name. The blood erupted from his mouth, the taste of his own mixing with the taste of Diego's. He thought back the gazelles he and Diego caught for Marco- perhaps Marco had taken a bite from Diego's first because Soto's was bigger, because the bigger one was meant to feed more members of the pack.

He could vaguely see the shapes of the mammoth, sloth, and human around Diego's fallen form. He could vaguely see the red rapidly seeping the snow around the other tiger. He could see Nina and Marco and Paco and his cubs and the first Diego and No-name and Oscar and Lenny and Zeke and his mother and the humans. He was Cain.

If he had known of the story, Soto would have thought of one thing in the last instant of his life. Cain received a chance at redemption; he was given a chance to be forgiven. The world swirled and faded. If he could live, he imagined himself walking up and limping towards his brother. He would have crouched low and he would have said "I'm sorry" because there really was nothing left to say. And No-name would forgive him.

* * *

Diego could still feel Pinky's warmth against his head. The trio was gone now and the pain was numbing. Everything felt numb. He was Abel.

If he had known of the story, he would have repeated it to Soto's body. Then he would have added "If I was Abel, I'd forgive you." He'd forgive Soto for what he did to him but he would never forgive him for what he tried to do to the others. It was fair enough.

Even as he lay bleeding in the snow, he couldn't stop the memories from flooding his mind. Juanita and Nina and Soto and Zeke and Oscar and Lenny and Marco and Paco and Manny and Sid and Pinky and the mother and... his own pack.

A few moments ago, when the sloth was urging him on, he realized what was so familiar about Sid- Sid was like Paco. Paco, despite being the beta, tripped a lot and told cheesy jokes and was the source of unintentional humor for the whole pack. And as a cub, he had seen none of these flaws. And suddenly he had several other revelations- Paco and his packmates were the ones who attacked, the flurry of claws.

Paco led the destruction of his pack.

The male who had led him and the female- they were his parents. The male was his father. And Marco had-

* * *

Diego limped through the snow, half sinking. He move painfully and slowly, leaving a fresh trail of blood behind him. He was pathetic. He really was. He had glorified the saber who killed his father, he had grieved over the tiger who slaughtered his pack, he had been hopelessly devoted to the tiger who nearly killed him, and now he had just thrown everything away for a mammoth, sloth, and infant he knew for less than a month.

He collapsed for the upteenth time in the thick snow. The cold felt good against the wounds. The worst part was that he didn't regret a thing. Marco once told him there were no such thing as mistakes in life so there could be no such thing as regrets.

"Which animal do you admire the most father?" Soto once asked.

"Yeah, which one?" No-name added eagerly.

Marco took a second to ponder as he patted both cubs with his paw. He smirked lightly.

"The saber-toothed squirrel."

"Wha- why?"

"Those things are determined as hell to get their acorns. In short, they never give up."

Marco was a lot like Manfred. As he climbed painfully to his feet, Diego wondered why he didn't make the connection earlier. He continued the messy journey. Manfred was strong, brave, stoic, dry-witted, grumpy. It reminded him a bit of Marco. Just a bit.

Because he admired Manny a bit more.

Really, he didn't regret a thing. Except maybe setting his ... his...  _friends_... up in the first place. He sunk again. He got up again. Really, the past was like the passing snow- Marco, Paco, Soto, everything they had done was in the past. Good and bad. But the past survived in memory and Diego realized there was no need to change his views on them- they were once his packmates, his heroes, and that was that.

And it was time to let go.

* * *

It was odd to use the word "herd" in place of "pack." But Diego decided it wasn't half-bad.

The first night they spent together Sid had offered to lick his wound. "I'll pass" was the reply. And yet the sloth had gone ahead and licked, complaining about the taste and doing it nonetheless. "Uh... thanks" was the second reply, followed by "you can stop now." It was an oddly touching gesture and there really was nothing to say about it.

The days weren't so cold anymore.

One night Diego confided in the mammoth. Manfred opened one sleepy eye and asked him "what? Sid bugging you?"

"No."

He didn't know how to phrase this. His thoughts were jumbled, his memories were overlapping, he was hungry, his wounds were acting up.

"My name's not Diego."

That woke the mammoth up. "Huh?" "Yeah..." "Okay... then what is it?"

"No-name."

"..." followed by "what's wrong, buddy?"

"I... just call me No-name tonight."

There was nothing to say. Manfred understood: the past was the past and really, it was time for all of them to let go of one thing or another.

"Alright, No-name." Diego added "And Manny?" "Yeah?" "Would ya- uh- forget this ever happened?" "I can pretend to." "Thanks pal."

"No problem... No-name."

And that was the last time the name was ever used.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> That was a helluva lot of text! Again, really sorry about that but I just can't see this as anything other than a oneshot. 
> 
> *New A/N: There was some implied Diego/Soto in here. It was intentional and closet slash; I'll admit it here because this fic never got caught for doing that hehe. 
> 
> Also, I wrote this before IA4 came out, hence Marco's name which at the time, bore no resemblance to any canon characters.


End file.
